The Siege Perilous
by Jungle Kitty
Summary: Admiral Morrow deals with the aftermath of Kirk's death in "Generations."


#  The Siege Perilous

(c) 2000 Jungle Kitty

Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.

Comments, praise, questions, and criticism are more than welcome.

_ [[Back to Jungle Kitty's Lair]][1]_

Thanks to Wildcat, Rabble Rouser, and Greywolf for beta-reading; and another round of thanks to Rabble Rouser for the inspiration of hir story, _ ["A Captain For a New Age,"][2]_ and for permitting me to springboard off hir take on those events and certain characters' roles in them.

This story is part of a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The _ ["Kirk-Brandt Chronology][3]"_ lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.

NOTE: It is quite possible that this story is "A/U" to the eventual outcome of the Kirk/Brandt stories. Things may actually happen quite differently. But this one wanted to be written now.

***

Trudging homeward under the clear night sky, Admiral Morrow reviewed the events of the past several months, trying to figure a way through the tangled thicket of blame and uncertainty. 

During the furious housecleaning that followed Khitomer, Admiral Daniel Berman Finnegan, as newly appointed Commander-in-Chief, had made it clear that you were either for him or against him. Morrow, still relieved to have retained his position, had put himself firmly into Finnegan's camp. His first assignment from the new C-in-C had been to inform James T. Kirk that his offer to postpone his retirement had been rejected. It hadn't been easy, especially when other officers were being asked to stay on, but Kirk had said he understood, and Morrow had the uneasy feeling that he did.

That quiet acceptance had vanished when Kirk learned the identity of his replacement. 

"Jason, have you lost your mind?" Kirk had demanded after storming into Morrow's office unannounced.

"Now, Jim, just calm down. The C-in-C wants Harriman in that position--"

"Harriman's not qualified and we both know it."

"You're out of line, Kirk. If Admiral Finnegan thinks--"

"Finnegan's not qualified either!"

"That's not a very nice thing to say, Jimmy-boy," Finnegan drawled as he sauntered in. "Regardless of your opinion of me, lad, I am the Commander-in-Chief, and contrary to what you may believe, the Enterprise isn't your personal property to bequeath to whomever you want. Now you've done your bit for king and country, so why don't you just go home and polish up your medals so we can toast you at your retirement dinner. Oh, and give my regards to Suzanne, won't you, boyo?"

After that scene, Morrow had been sure he'd heard the last of Kirk and frankly, he'd been relieved. He should have known better. How many times had Starfleet tried to tell Kirk that his day was done? Promotion to the admiralty, a posting at the Academy, one court-martial and several near-misses, and still he always had one more card to play.

What was it Nogura had said when Morrow had sought his advice on commanding a man of Kirk's talents?

"It's amazing," Morrow had puzzled aloud. "Trouble clings to Jim Kirk like cold on an icicle and yet he still lands on his feet every time."

Nogura had laughed. "He's destiny's lightning rod, don't you know that?"

Remembering the harsh irony behind Nogura's words, Morrow turned his face up to the sky.

"Don't you ever run out of lightning bolts?" he muttered.

Two days ago, the lightning rod had once against stepped aboard the bridge of the Enterprise. It was a symbolic gesture, the old passing the torch to the new, and Morrow had been surprised that Kirk had agreed to participate.

"Kirk's ego is like the universe--if it ever stopped expanding, he'd cease to exist," Finnegan had expounded, brimming with satisfaction as he leaned back in his chair. "He may hate every minute of it--in fact, I'm sure he will--but he'd sooner cut off his own arm than let that ship launch without him. The Enterprise without Jim Kirk? Unthinkable. Since that stunt with the whales and then Khitomer, people talk about him like he's some kind of a god. And no one believes that more than the man himself. He'll be there. It'll stick in his craw that we're shining his light on our future, but he'll be there."

Morrow wasn't sure about Finnegan's assessment of Kirk's character, but he had been right about one thing. Kirk had been on the Enterprise-B when it launched. And when the news reports had begun pouring in, Morrow had gone straight to Finnegan's office. The old snake was no longer smiling and lounging in his chair. Together, they'd issued statement after statement, vouching for the correctness of Captain Harriman's actions while promising a complete investigation. They'd tried to put the lid on, but several of Kirk's former officers had already made statements to the press, and their angry grief made a much better story than the carefully crafted declarations of the spin doctors. 

***

Usually the distance between HQ and home seemed quite short, but tonight, the memories of the past few days dragged on Morrow. He tried to quicken his pace, thinking of his wife, his grandson, and the comfort of their unshaken love and faith, but his feet lagged under the weight of fear that had permeated the upper levels of Starfleet.

They'd done nothing wrong! A simple cruise to show off their shiny new starship! In alpha sector, where nothing ever happened, for god's sake! Yet fingers were pointing and from the top down, people were protesting their innocence to anyone who would listen. 

Morrow snorted angrily. Did they really expect anyone to believe that Harriman had snuck into the center seat and taken the Enterprise out for a joyride?

Accountability. It was something Kirk had understood. And apparently, so did Captain Brandt.

Was it only yesterday that her decision about Kirk's funeral had sent Morrow rushing to the C-in-C's office? 

Reeling from the shock of learning that Starfleet's offer to display full military honors at the funeral had been politely declined, Morrow had sped past Finnegan's aide, only to be find the admiral engaged in damage control at the highest level. Finnegan waved him into a chair as he assured the President of the Federation that the Enterprise-B's launch, the intended highlight of the Federation Day celebration, wasn't a total disaster. It was unfortunate that the news media were aboard, but the public relations people were making every effort to change the perception on those events. After all, nearly seventy people had been rescued. And hadn't Kirk himself taken the Enterprise out in less than mint condition on several occasions?

"Ah, yes, V'ger. And the hostage situation in Paradise City." The quiet sarcasm of the President Ra-ghoratrei's voice crackled in the transmission. "Before my time, I'm afraid. But correct me if I'm wrong, Admiral--those were emergencies, were they not?"

Before Finnegan could answer, the President put him on hold to receive a top priority subspace transmission. When he came back on, he didn't bother to mask his displeasure at the latest development.

"Admiral Finnegan, I want your top security people on Kirk's funeral. You can handle at least that, I hope?"

"Sir, I assure you, we're prepared for every eventuality. I'm personally checking the list of officials and delegates who will--"

"Good. I have just learned that Captain Brandt has designated the eulogist."

"Mr. President, with all due respect, I hardly think Ambassador Spock will require a security contingent--"

"But the Chancellor of the Klingon Empire will. My office will contact you with her itinerary."

Morrow had thought Finnegan would stroke out. After the admiral had recovered himself, he'd ordered Morrow to find someone to persuade Captain Brandt to make another choice. But the people who knew her well weren't foolish enough to attempt it, and in the end, Morrow had accompanied Finnegan on his visit to the grieving widow.

"Now let me do all the talking. She's not an unreasonable woman if you know how to handle her," Finnegan said in the flitter that carried them to Brandt's apartment. It sounded to Morrow as if he was talking to reassure himself, but he nodded an affirmation. "She and I were friends at the Academy. We were even sweethearts for a while. I'm sure she'll listen to me."

But under Brandt's chilly gaze, Finnegan's request had soon become a plea. Surely she wanted something more personal, someone who had actually known Kirk, Ambassador Spock would be arriving shortly, wouldn't he be a more appropriate choice, or Dr. McCoy, or even a taped message from Captain Sulu--

"No."

His brogue thickening to a honeyed sweetness, Finnegan changed tactics. 

"Darlin', to be honest, I'm worried about you. I think grief may have unhinged your mind."

"Are you asking me to submit to a psychiatric evaluation, Admiral?"

Her voice was low and even, with just a hint of amusement in it, and Morrow noticed that Finnegan seemed taken aback by her response. But he maintained his composure, reassuring her in the soothing tone one would use to speak to a confused child.

"No, of course not. But Jim was a career officer and so are you. You can't seriously mean to refuse the poor man a military funeral. And as for the eulogy--well, it's going to look like you don't trust Starfleet to honor its own."

She smiled then, a tight-lipped half-smile, as if she'd been waiting for just that cue.

"I don't. Not your Starfleet. When Jim wanted to stay on and help make Starfleet respectable again, you didn't need him. You thought that giving Harriman a command made him command material, as if honor and courage came with the uniform. You've insulted not only Jim, but everyone who's tried to live up to the ideals that made being a Starfleet officer something to be proud of. Jim made the Enterprise the most coveted posting in the Fleet, and you expected him to give his blessing to that pathetic--"

"He wasn't the bloody pope! And he accepted the invitation! I didn't exactly have to hog-tie him to get him there, now did I?"

"Are you blaming Jim for dying on your watch? That's not what they taught us at the Academy. Or is that also part of the new Starfleet?"

"You can't let a Klingon deliver his eulogy!"

"We're friends with the Klingons now, Danny. Have you forgotten? Azetbur expressed the deepest admiration for Jim after what he did at Khitomer. He risked his life for that peace, but it was politics that killed him. I want a politician to deliver the eulogy."

Finnegan had cursed his former sweetheart all the way back to HQ, while Morrow pondered the irony of the situation. They had wanted the media to sit up and pay attention to their new Starfleet, purged of traitors and bursting with officers so dedicated to peace that heroism was anachronistic. The plans Brandt had made for Kirk's funeral ensured that they would get all the attention they had desired and more. 

***

Sighing wearily, Morrow turned in at his doorway, where his wife greeted him quietly. She offered food--which he refused--and drink--which he accepted. Sipping the whiskey he'd been craving all day, he asked, "Is Tommy still up?"

"I sent him to bed a half an hour ago, but I'm sure he's still awake."

"I'll go up and say goodnight."

As he climbed the stairs, he couldn't help comparing the warm compassion in his wife's eyes with the icy hostility in Brandt's. What kind of a woman could sublimate her grief in a wish to be revenged on those who had caused it? Did she mourn? Or was all her energy spent in setting the wheels in motion that would assure Kirk's immortality? He couldn't fathom it and decided he probably never would. From all accounts, she'd joined Special Ops early in her career and had never looked back, and god only knew what that bunch of spooks thought about anything.

He hadn't seen her again until the memorial service that afternoon. Like all the officers there, she was in full dress, but she had more decorations than most, a fact that was not lost on Admiral Finnegan.

"Blast the woman!" he had muttered. "Did she have to wear every damn medal she has?"

Morrow had refrained from pointing out that Kirk's people hadn't shown any restraint in that department either, but he was certain he wasn't the only one struck by the comparative barrenness of Harriman's own chest. He thought perhaps Brandt had overplayed her hand by displaying Kirk's decorations at the front of the church instead of a holo, but no. The press had holos aplenty of Kirk. They couldn't get enough slow-panning shots of the ribbons, citations, and medals. It was inevitable that it would be played over and over, along with the footage of the foiled assassination attempt at Camp Khitomer. It was good drama, the perfect companion to the other news vid that he knew would play unceasingly in the coming days.

Kirk's eulogy. Delivered by Azetbur of Qo'noS.

Oh, it had been tactful. A shining example of artful diplomacy, much more subtle than what he'd expected from a Klingon. She'd spoken of Kirk as both a warrior and a visionary. She'd said that he was regarded among her people as the bridge between Klingon and human, past and future. His actions at Khitomer--saving the very Federation that had abandoned him and assuring peace with the Empire that had condemned him to Rura Penthe--had shown the Klingons that honor did exist among humans. 

She did not say, "Why did you allow such a man to be insulted by one so unfit to take his place? Why did you parade him before the braying donkeys of the media as if he had no other use? Why was a superficial celebration of the founding of your Federation more important than the man who had done more than any other to assure its future?"

She didn't have to. The message was clear.

*We honor him as you did not.*

When she raised her voice in the Klingon cry of mourning, and those who'd served under Kirk had stood at attention, the rest of them had no choice but to follow suit.

The press ate it up.

***

As he entered the cozy bedroom, he saw that Tommy was indeed still awake.

"Grandpa!" he cried, his eyes brightening with happiness.

It was a shame that the boy was visiting now when Morrow had so little time to give him, but it was also a blessing. These few minutes together would be his only distraction from the problems outside.

He settled Tommy back into the bed and listened to his lively account of his day. Friends, pets, games... Finally, when it looked like his speech was winding down to "--and--and--" he switched to a more pensive tone, his brow wrinkling in an unintended parody of concern.

"Grandpa, I've been thinking..."

"Yes?"

"About that story? The Seat Pearl-less?" His six-year-old vocabulary stumbled over the unfamiliar words.

"The Siege Perilous. What about it?"

"What does it mean--only the purest knight could sit there?"

"It was the highest place of honor among Arthur's knights. If anyone other than the very best sat there, something terrible would happen."

"But Lancelot was the best, wasn't he? And he couldn't sit there."

"Lancelot was the best fighter, but when Merlin cast a spell on that chair, he was thinking of someone who was more than a fighter. Someone who was different from the others, someone whose courage and spirit would lead him somewhere beyond anyplace Lancelot or the others could go."

The boy looked at him dubiously.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow, all right, Tommy?"

He kissed his grandson on the forehead, hugged him a little too hard, and went downstairs, wishing Tommy had asked about any story but that one.

***

Morrow sank into the deep-cushioned chair in his study, the darkness within the room almost matching that of the quiet garden it overlooked. One lamp glowed on a table beside him, bathing a small circle in a warm yellow. No, gold actually.

Damn! Would he find no peace tonight? It had been over twenty years since a gold shirt had been the symbol of leadership, yet just the sight of a lamp--

He sighed. What did he expect? Did he really think he could hide in a darkened room, that the maiden cruise of the Enterprise-B wouldn't follow him home? Could an afternoon of solemn words, sympathetic handshakes, and somber music put an end to a life like Kirk's? Would the tears of one afternoon--whether quickly brushed aside or allowed to flow unashamedly--wash away that legacy?

Now, listening to the branches of the dogwood brush against the study windows, he thought about Tommy's question and the answer he'd given. He'd certainly fudged the definition of purity, but how much could you tell a six-year-old? And there were many different kinds of purity. Jim Kirk's brand had certainly been unique.

He smiled at the thought. Purity was not a word that one normally associated with the man who'd been nicknamed Tomcat during his Academy years. Yet there was a purity to his actions. He wasn't a politician; he had always acted on the principle of doing what was right. In many ways, he'd been a thorn in the side of everyone who ever tried to command him. That stubborn refusal to play the game, the unhesitating way he put his personal honor to the test time after time, the standard for accountability that he'd set--it was simply too much for anyone to live up to.

And most annoying of all, every time--every single damn time that Kirk had done what he thought was right despite what anyone else said--it turned out that he *was* right! Even hijacking the Enterprise and destroying it--an act that should have landed him in the brig for the rest of his life--turned out to be the best thing he could have done. If he hadn't, who would have taken a Bird of Prey back through time to save the Earth from its own shortsightedness? No one else would have even considered playing such a long shot. It was the sort of brave folly that Starfleet had thought was behind them. The new world they were building with the Klingons made such hotshot antics irrelevant, the stuff on which myths were built but not futures. 

Too late Morrow realized how right Nogura had been. The lightning rod had been taken down and from now on, destiny would strike haphazardly. For who would stand in that high place, daring the gods to rain down fire on him once more? Who would be willing to be measured against such a history? They were already making dark jokes about a curse on that command. No Merlin had waved his wand over the center seat of the Enterprise, but would anyone ever again grace that chair with the strange combination of ease and bravado that had been James Kirk? 

The Siege Perilous.

Tommy wasn't the only one wondering about that story this night.

Earlier that day, Morrow had stood in a corner of the vestibule after the memorial service, watching Kirk's friends and family console each other and accept the condolences of others. Although Azetbur's interview on the steps of the church had sent shudders through all levels of government, at least it had drawn the media away from those whose loss was more personal, something for which Morrow was overwhelmingly grateful as he watched the scene that transpired.

He saw Harriman approach each of Kirk's officers. Some nodded curtly to him but none had shaken his hand. Only Dr. McCoy had addressed him in words that were obviously meant to carry. 

"Harriman, if you were just a little stupider, I could feel sorry for you. But you weren't simply promoted beyond your abilities. You schemed for that appointment, you kissed butt all up and down the line, and if you knew that you were only a pawn in Finnegan's game--that your posting to the Enterprise was his way of getting the last laugh--you didn't care. I hope they crucify you, you presumptuous weasel."

"I--I--"

McCoy walked away. 

"What was that?" Harriman whispered, not noticing the man beside him who, like Morrow, had witnessed the exchange.

"That," said Ambassador Spock, "was the truth."

A stupefied Harriman took a few aimless steps, turned, and found himself facing Captain Brandt. Morrow strained to hear the exchange, his manners suffocating under the weight of his curiosity. He could see Brandt's face, starkly immobile as she listened to Harriman's sympathetic platitudes.

"Captain Brandt...so sorry...a very brave man...a great loss..."

He faltered into silence and looked around as if pleading for rescue. Morrow felt his stomach knot in disgust. It was bad enough that Harriman's bewildered expression exactly matched his appearance in the news vids--did he have to make sure everyone there saw it?

Finally Harriman's gaze settled on Brandt again. As Morrow watched her eyes harden with contempt, he was certain that she had planned this entire confrontation, right down to the length of the silence between them.

"Did you really think that you could sit in Jim's chair?" she asked.

After one last scornful look at Kirk's successor, she left the church.

Remembering how Kirk's officers had closed ranks and refused all invitations of hospitality, Morrow slumped lower in the cushions. He'd heard a death knell in Brandt's words and it wasn't for the man who was now beyond the machinations of political necessity.

Morrow pressed his fingertips to his forehead. Finnegan had called an emergency meeting of "his" officers after the funeral, and Morrow's head was still pounding from the shouted accusations and declarations of innocence. Finnegan had made it clear that he expected heads to roll and Morrow had almost smiled at that. If Finnegan thought his own was safe, he was living in a fool's paradise. Hadn't he heard what Azetbur had told the interviewer from FNN on the church steps?

"I admit I am puzzled by many things surrounding this loss. To the Klingon people, Kirk will always be the hero of Khitomer, and we are having difficulty seeing the difference between his 'retirement' and the comparative comfort of the Federation prisons in which your traitors now reside. Some of my people continue to question the wisdom of an alliance with races whose values are so foreign to our own. But our ways are not yours, and there is much we have to learn about each other. President Ra-ghoratrei has agreed to meet with me tomorrow, and I am sure that all will be made clear then."

There would be consequences to that meeting, Morrow was sure of it. At Khitomer, Azetbur had been quoted as saying that Kirk had restored her father's faith. Her latest statement made it clear that the Federation had damn well better come up with something to restore hers. Harriman would pay a price for his role in the fiasco, but he wouldn't be alone. To pacify the Klingon Chancellor and demonstrate the Federation's appreciation of a warrior's code of honor, Finnegan would be forced out, if not court-martialed. And after him...

Accountability. Kirk had been an enigma in many ways, but there was one thing of which Morrow was absolutely certain. Kirk had understood that command was both a privilege and a burden, and he hadn't shirked his duty on either count. Suddenly Morrow was overwhelmed with remorse at his own role in the new Starfleet. As Brandt had pointed out, honor and courage come from the man, not the uniform, and he was doubly ashamed that he'd had to be reminded of that. He'd been riding on his stripes since the day he'd acquiesced in Harriman's appointment, knuckled under pressure to "put on a good show," and sacrificed his integrity to the security of his position.

Unbidden, the idea of submitting his resignation to Admiral Finnegan presented itself for inspection. He took his time studying it, turning it this way and that, examining what it would mean to him, the people around him, and those who would come after them. He thought of the Starfleet that had been and the one that was yet to be, and finally, he found himself thinking of just one word.

Enterprise.

The very word had magic in it, the clear, bright sound of horns summoning bold adventurers to their destiny.

Honor and courage and accountability... Morrow had believed in them once. They would be his once more.

He startled himself with the suddenness of his decision, but it felt right, and the unexpected rush of liberation left him almost lightheaded with mingled serenity and regret. He closed his eyes, knowing that soon he would mourn all that had been lost when Jim Kirk made a desperate dash to the lower decks of the Enterprise-B. But first, he owed one last duty to Starfleet, to himself, and to the man who would be remembered by both well beyond this day. 

He opened his eyes and sat up straight, and a strange peace settled over him as he began mentally reviewing the list of candidates who might be fit to occupy the chair that was reserved for the best. Perhaps it would prove useful to his successor.

***

> "This ship and her history will shortly become the care of another crew. To them and their posterity will we commit our future. They will continue the voyages we have begun and journey to all the undiscovered countries, boldly going where no man...where no one has gone before."

> - James T. Kirk, Captain's Log, Final Entry

[The End] 

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